Halloween: Blood is Thicker than Water
by HarlotQuinn
Summary: Michelle never really felt like she fit in with her family. And not just because her parents were horrible people. She was always just... different. Upon their death she learns she's adopted. And never could have imagined where she really came from. The story of a father and daughter who have no idea what family means. Future M, T for now. Abuse, gore, rape, incest.
1. Prequel

Disclaimer: I own nothing. All rights go to.. whoever owns this series now. It seems to get passed around more than a freshman sorority chick on spring break. I'm making no profit from this and am just borrowing the characters and themes for my own twisted amusement. And hopefully yours. Enjoy.

This repost is heavily edited. I wasn't at all happy with how it was written before. I'm planning to add a lot more detail and story.

A/N: This story is based in the original series, NOT Rob Zombie's. Also appropriately IGNORING 4, 5, and 6. They're terrible, and I want nothing to do with them. I'm willing to accept that there is a supernatural aspect to Michael... but not the crap that they tried to pass off on us.

A/N2: This has been rolling around in my head for years. Not really sure why it took this long to get up. Around the time that Resurrection came out, I was imagining what it would be like if Michael had any children. Would they be just as messed up as he is? Would whatever force that drives him attach itself to his offspring? Thus Michelle was born.

~O~

October 31st, 1978

Smith's Grove Sanitarium

Warren County, Illinois

The entire hospital was in absolute chaos. It had taken most of the night to round up the patients and get them back into their assigned rooms. Windows and doors were smashed, and the storm just wasn't letting up.

Doctors, nurses, orderlies and guards were close to pulling their hair out. How had one, just one, patient caused this much damage? Not only that, but escaped as well. One, seemingly catatonic, psychopath that had hardly so much as moved or made a single peep in the past fifteen years. Well, as far as any of the staff knew.

It was nearing six o'clock in the morning by the time everything was back in order. And just as everyone was about to sit down and take a load off for a few moments, an alert sounded. One of the patients, Ingrid Whitman, had gone into labor.

That's a funny story though, since Ingrid had been in the sanitarium for over a year. She was a schizophrenic alcoholic with a particular affinity for heroin, and was, more often than not, separated from the other patients in the hospital, as their presence had a tendency to upset her. However, a month or two into her stay, she was accidentally left alone in the same room as none other than Michael Audrey Myers. Something strange happened though. He didn't seem to bother her. No one was sure if it was just because of his immobility and silence, or if she just felt comfortable, but so started a strange sort of relationship.

In the interest of socializing these two, the hospital often times left them in the same room for hour long stretches of time. Ingrid usually read, while Michael stared off at a wall. But as months past, he started staring at her. Ingrid wasn't bothered though, and would attempt to talk to him. Not really about anything, maybe just about the book or her treatment. He never responded, but did seem to listen.

One evening, close to the end of January, a code red was called through the hospital. All doctors and nurses were to respond. Figuring that it would be safe enough to leave the two of them alone, what were they gonna do, right? The nurses that were watching them ran off. No one knows for sure what exactly happened, or at least how it transpired, because when the nurses returned everything seemed to be how they left it. Except for about six weeks later, when it was found that Ingrid was pregnant.

She refused to talk about it. Wouldn't tell anyone what had happened, or with who. Michael wasn't their first guess. He never showed interest in anything, how could he have, right? Fearing that perhaps she had been assaulted by a guard or doctor, Ingrid was moved from the psychiatric wing, to the medical wing. And unfortunately, never saw Michael again. She fell into a deep depression, and started fading away. Like she had lost the will to live. It was really only for the sake of her child that she held on long enough to give birth.

It was still early in the morning when it happened. Ingrid hadn't felt well all day, but didn't really mention anything. Just stayed in bed. She had no idea what happened in the hospital as she slept. No idea that her friend had left. The next thing she knew was waking up at seven, Halloween morning, with stabbing pains in her abdomen. It happened several times before she even realized what was going on and yelled for the doctors. They barely had time to get her into a birthing room. It took twenty painful minutes, but by 7:28 am, her daughter was born. Seven pounds, six ounces, twenty inches long. The child had black hair and... black eyes? But she was healthy, and that's what really mattered. Ingrid, however, was not doing well. She'd lost a considerable amount of blood, coupled with the fact that she really didn't have much of a will or fight to live left in her, she only got to hold her daughter long enough to name her. Michelle. "After her daddy..." She'd said, before finally slipping off into nothingness.

It was clear that Michael was indeed the child's father, but for the sake of legality, they decided to try a new test to be sure. DNA testing was still in it's infancy at that time, results only about eighty percent reliable, but if there was enough of a match to go with what they already knew, then they could make it official.

A small sample of blood was taken from Michelle, and compared to past DNA screenings of Michael. It was a match. The doctors were pretty much stunned. The boy hadn't said or show interest in anything since he'd been there. It made no sense, but results didn't lie.

Michelle was about a week old by the time her paternity was confirmed, and everyone already knew what had happened in Haddonfield. Michael was missing, and Michelle's only living family was Laurie, who was too young to be made responsible for the infant.

After much discussion between child protective services and the state, it was decided that, for the child's safety, she would be put in foster care. While she retained the name Michelle Myers, all documentation and record of her parentage was locked up tight.

When she was six months old, her aunt, Laurie, became an adult. However, upon being asked to consider taking her niece under her care, Laurie refused. It wasn't that she didn't care. She just didn't think she could do it. The poor woman was still so broken, and said she felt it would be best if Michelle were put up for adoption. But not before Laurie got to hold her. She'd smiled at the baby, but it was sad. It looked pained. And she said, "she has his eyes..."

It wasn't difficult to find a family looking for a child. A middle aged British couple showed interest in her. Physically, Michelle looked very similar to them, and she was adopted within a month. Her named was changed to Michelle Stafford, and she was sent off to London, and to her new life.

~O~

November 3rd, 2002

The Stafford Estate

London England

Twenty-four year old Michelle Leanne Stafford stood, leaning against the door frame of her parents bedroom. The word 'parents' being used very loosely here. They'd never seemed to have much interest in her at all, parading her around when they needed to improve or uphold their image, but otherwise, she was left in the care of her governesses and the maids.

They'd died in a car crash just six weeks ago. It was tragic, the car was totaled. Their bodies had been mangled beyond all recognition. And to the world, Michelle appeared appropriately devastated. What no one knew was that she was the reason they were dead. She'd known her parents were going to be leaving to go visit her aunt in Scotland, and had paid an out of work mechanic she'd met in the city to sabotage the car. The gas pedal was sticking, and the breaks just didn't work. And Michelle felt nothing. No remorse, no sadness. Just. Nothing.

Michelle could remember the cops coming to her dorm to deliver the news. She'd collapsed into crying, blubbering heap. Denying the entire thing. Refusing to believe that her loving, wonderful parents could possibly be dead. It just wasn't possible. The officers were so kind and understanding. They even arranged her transportation back to London so she could plan the funeral.

That was laughable. She didn't give them anything resembling a funeral. There was a showing, close casket of course, they were bad enough to look at alive, no one wanted to see them dead. Then she had the cremated. She still hadn't bothered to pick up their ashes.

With a sigh, she pushed herself away from the door and stepped into the room. Her entire life she'd been forbidden from setting foot in there, and now whatever was in there was hers. Most of it was going to be auctioned off, or donated. She wasn't particularly attached to anything in the house. Most of her own things were back at her apartment in Oxford. The only thing she was after right now was anything pertaining to the family finances. She was entitled to everything, she knew that, but just wanted to know what all that included.

The safe was above the bed, hidden by a hideous painting of a cluster of sunflowers. The horrendous monstrosity on yellow had been gifted to them when she was born. They'd had it in her room for years, until she turned twelve and complained about how ugly it was. Over time she'd managed to get less and less of their touches in her life until she finally managed to get away to go to school.

Michelle studied journalism at Oxford University. Well, she would study, if she didn't spend most of her time in a drunken haze. Her parents had sheltered her so much in her childhood that when she finally got away from home she went a little crazy. Constantly drunk or high, Michelle spent most of her time going to shows rather than studying. She'd earned a reputation of being a band whore, jumping into bed with any one she could. Michelle loved black metal, and often got herself backstage under the guise of "writing for an online 'Zine." Which she did, eventually.

She passed pictures of her parents on the walls as she walked through the room. The photos she'd seen of herself as a baby, she looked like them, but as she aged she changed drastically. Her hair stayed black, and her eyes were always a very dark gray. Her face and body though, both of her parents were short, squat people with bad skin and worse teeth. Michelle towered over both of them by the time she was sixteen, being nearly six feet tall. Her skin was perfectly clean, if a little on the pale side. Her mother was shapeless and lumpy, Michelle was slender, but curvy. She'd developed early, and looked like she was twenty by the time she turned sixteen. She also always seemed to be abnormally strong for her size, with a seemingly endless supply of stamina.

Michelle climbed up on the bed, kicking the pillows to the floor. She tilted her head, glancing over the painting before tearing it off the wall and hurling it across the room. It crashed into her mother's vanity mirror, spraying glass and splinters of broken frame everywhere. Michelle smirked, then turned back to the safe.

She found typical things. Her mother's better jewelry, gun, property papers, nothing interesting. Until she reached the back. There was a large manila envelope with her name on it. She raised an eyebrow and pulled it out, plopping down on the cushy mattress. The papers inside were from the states. Illinois to be exact. There was a stack from an adoption agency, then some from a hospital called Smith's Grove. It was the birth certificate that caught her eye though. The name on it was Michelle Myers.

"Myers?" She mumbled, reading the birth date. October 31st, 1978. This was her. She was adopted.

"The fuck...?" She mumbled, reading through more and more of the file. Her mother's name was Ingrid Whitman, she'd been a psychiatric patient as the hospital since May of the previous year. That made Michelle raise an eyebrow, she got pregnant while she was in this hospital. Ingrid died while giving birth to her, and had no living family. The more she searched though, the less she really knew. There was no mention of her father anywhere in the papers. His name was even missing from the certificate, completely blacked out.

To say the least, Michelle was horribly confused. She'd always suspected that there was something off about her, that she was just way too different from these people she called parents. Adoption always seemed like a viable bet, but now just knowing it's true was mind blowing, and confusing. She searched through the papers again. Coming across the name of the doctor who signed off on the certificate. Johnathan Wynn.

Michelle gathered up all of the papers and carried them into her room, where her computer was set up. When it booted she looked up the number to the hospital. As it searched, she flipped through the papers again. Trying to find something she might have missed, but she'd read through it half a dozen times. So she tossed them on the desk and grabbed the phone. It was about seven thirty in the evening, so she guessed it was around one thirty in the afternoon in Illinois. She punched in the international code, and number, then waited.

The phone rang several times, seven, eight... she could hear her heart beating in her ears. She was excited, and slightly scared. To learn that she had an entirely different life that she never knew about. A different family. By the tenth ring she was thinking of hanging up, but someone finally answered/

"Smith's Grove Psychiatric Hospital, this is Tonya, how can I help you?" The woman sounded friendly, and maybe a little too chipper. Honestly, it annoyed the shit out of Michelle.

"Hello uhm, can you tell me if a doctor Johnathan Wynn still works there?" Michelle tried to not sound hopeful, something told her that this might not exactly be something to be elated about, but she couldn't help it.

"Yes he does, did you need to speak with him?"

"Yes, please." Michelle breathed out, biting her bottom lip.

"One moment please." The other woman said, then the phone was flooded with horrible elevator music. Michelle rubbed her forehead, and waited. It was another three minutes before she heard anything. A wizened voice answered.

"Hello? This is Doctor Wynn. What can I do for you?" He sounded tired, she assumed he'd be somewhere in his sixties.

"Hi, uhm... My name is Michelle Stafford, I just found some-"

"Adoption papers..." He cut her off, sounding suddenly very upset. She was taken slightly aback.

"Yes, uhm how did you know...?"

"I was the doctor that delivered you. Your birth mother was also my patient. There aren't many babies born here."

"Oh, well... I was wondering if you could tell me why my father isn't listed on these papers anywhere." Michelle heard the man take a sharp breath.

"Miss Stafford... I understand your curiosity, but I assure you, it's better that you don't know."

Michelle raised an eyebrow, taking a deep breath. "Why?"

"Michelle..." He sounded like the name was almost painful for him to say. "You were adopted out for a reason. You're much better off where you are. I'm begging you to let this go. There are some things you just don't want to know..."

"Better off?!" She snapped, not able to hold back. "You think I was better off here? Money doesn't buy happiness, Doctor. My parents could have given a fuck less about me. I was a fucking trophy for them. They paraded me around when they needed to make themselves look good, then I was stuffed back into my room and wouldn't hear a damn word from them for weeks. How exactly is that better off?"

"I-I'm sorry, Miss Stafford. I didn't... I'm sorry. But even with that..."

"Don't you dare tell me that I'm still better off. I want to know my father's name. There's no way he could be worse than the one I grew up with."

"I assure you he can..."

"Tell me!" She snapped, and heard the man sigh.

"Alright, alright. I'm not supposed to talk about this, your records were sealed and hidden for a reason, but... your father's name is... Michael Myers."

Michelle felt her breath catch. She knew that name. And... Illinois. There was no way. It couldn't be. Could it? "Y-you don't mean the... the serial killer?"

The doctor took a deep breath. "I'm afraid that I do. Your parentage wasn't confirmed until after the Haddonfield murders. With his body uncovered, we had to assume that he was still alive. It was for your own safety that we kept your existence buried." He paused for a moment. "When his sister-your aunt- Laurie, became an adult, she was asked to take you in. She said she didn't think she could keep you safe. As your ward, it was her decision to put you up for adoption." He finished, Michelle was dead silent. Her father was one of the most infamous serial killers in American history. Her mother was an orphaned schizophrenic junkie, and her only other living family didn't want her. Story of her fucking life...

"She's still alive, right? In a hospital somewhere...?" Michelle had read this entire story in her psychology classes. The last anyone knew was Laurie had killed the wrong man, and Michael had been missing ever since.

"Actually, she passed away just a few days ago. She was found outside of Grace Anderson Sanitarium with a stab wound to her side. Two guards were found dead as well. A man fitting your father's description was reported to have been in the building." Michelle felt her heart sink.

"So... he's still..."

"He returned to Haddonfield. Some college students were participating in a web-cast that took place in the family home. He murdered eight people, two escaped. He'd suffered several injuries, as well as electrocution, however it seems that he survived. The coroner that was to examine him was found with her skull crushed, and his body was nowhere to be found. It's safe to assume that he's still alive."

"He's still alive..." She repeated softly.

"It would appear that way, yes." The doctor said sadly. "I'm sorry that you had to find out this way... honestly I'm sorry you had to find out at all. I know no one could expect this."

"Thank you, Doctor." She said, before hanging up quickly.

Michelle sat the phone on the charger, and stared at the papers spread out over her bed. Nothing could have ever prepared her for that. Michael Myers was her father. Fuck... she was named after him. It was too surreal. But in that moment she made a decision.

She was going home.

~O~

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	2. Hello, Daddy

Disclaimer: See chapter one.

~O~

November 6th, 2002

Michelle Staf...no.. Myers, left her adopted parents estate in the capable hands of their lawyer. The house, and everything in it, was to be sold off, and the money placed into her personal account. She withdrew from school, packed everything up and bought a plane ticket to Chicago. One way. Honestly she wasn't entirely upset to be leaving England. She'd loved it, it was a beautiful, but there wasn't anything good about her life there. But then... there might not be anything good waiting for her in the states either. You know... except for her homicidal maniac of a father.

Michelle had spent the past few days reading up on as much as she could about her family. There wasn't anything remarkable about her mother's side. Ingrid's parents were long dead, and she had one brother that wanted nothing to do with his sister or her "demon child". That had been a pleasant conversation...

With Michael's side, she found out a little more. His doctor had published a book about him before he'd died, she'd read through it within a day. His parents died in nineteen sixty-five in a plane crash coming home from one of Michael's hearings. Laurie was adopted by some family friends. Faked her death in nineteen eighty, changed her name to Keri Tate and moved to California where she had her son, John, in nineteen eighty-one. She read over the incident at the high school, and about her aunts internment at Grace Anderson. Then everything about what happened just a week ago. She'd been unable to get a hold of her cousin, but did find out when and where her aunt's funeral would be. She had just enough time to get her records from Illinois before heading to the west coast.

Michelle landed at the Chicago O'Hare International Airport at three in the morning on November sixth. From there she took a charter bus to Springfield.

It took most of the day, but she was able to get her records released. The first six months of her life was in these files. Everything from how her parents met, to the diary entries her foster parents had made about her. Apparently she was a fussy, impossible baby. For her first three months she did nothing but cry. She wasn't adopted until she was almost a year old. Several families had wanted to show interest in her, the Stafford's just had the biggest bank account. That made her stomach churn. Money is the only thing that they take into consideration when giving people living beings. Dog breeders had more in depth screening processes.

The papers also granted her the entirety of her grandparents estate. Which really only consisted of the house. Technically it was her father's, but seeing as he wasn't exactly in the most fit mental state, and Laurie was dead, it fell to the eldest grandchild. Her.

She took the day before heading to California for Laurie's funeral to scope out her new property. It was still a mess from that stupid web-cast bullshit. She'd take care of it when she got back. She got herself a hotel room, then headed hopped a plane.

Michelle had never been to a funeral before. Her "parents" weren't exactly close to their own family, and weren't the most well liked people in Britain's high society. If they didn't own the countries larges steel manufacturer, they'd have been nothing. Funeral's weren't exactly something they were invited to.

She dressed herself in a tasteful black dress, which she had to buy especially for this occasion, and sat towards the back of the church. There was only a handful of people there. Michelle assumed that the young man sitting directly up front was John, her cousin. The blonde with him must be his wife.

Michelle listened as the priest talked about faith and life. How Laurie was now at peace. No longer tortured by the demons of her past. Unfortunately, Michelle's views were much more grim. How can you have faith when you've been born into a family with what may as well be Satan himself as your brother?

When the service was over, Michelle approached the casket. Getting the one and only look at her aunt she would never have. Laurie was beautiful. She looked ageless, with how relaxed her face was. She had the same fair, slender features that Michelle possessed, the same pale skin. Her hair was blonde, though, like her mother's. Michelle had a few photo's of her grandparents. She was smiling fondly at the woman in the box. Imagining what it would have been like to know her.

"Were you a student of hers?" Michelle's eyes snapped up, meeting a face that looked just like the one of the woman in the casket. John, she recognized. Her cousin.

"No, actually." She replied softly, trying to keep her voice steady. "I'm family."

"I..I didn't know she had any family left..." He said, looking at her oddly. "Are you another sister?"

"No.." Michelle sighed, looking down at her hands. "Is there any way we can talk privately?" John just nodded.

"Sure, give me a sec, please." He said, holding up a finger. Michelle nodded, and stood awkwardly off to the side as he greeted, hugged and talked to the other people. Once everyone had cleared out they sat down in one of the pews. Michelle took a shaking breath.

"I'm not a sister. I'm actually your cousin." She said, not quite meeting his eyes. John's brow drew together. "He...Michael... is my father." She looked up to see a look of pure shock on her cousin's face.

"H-how... I mean... I didn't know..." He stammered out. Michelle took a deep breath, and let out a bitter laugh.

"Neither does he, in all fairness."

"How... I mean... I know how, but... how?" John asked, looking more confused than Michelle was.

"When he was in the hospital. My mother was another patient. I was born that night. Halloween.. nineteen seventy-eight." John breathed out a laugh.

"That does seem to be his style."

"I'm not entirely sure if that was planned, or just a happy coincidence." Her smile dropped. "Not really happy, I guess."

"But, your accent...?"

"I was adopted. The doctors and social workers I've talked to said that I was offered to your mother, but she didn't think she could take care of me."

"She never said anything..." He looked slightly distant. Then his eyes snapped to hers. "Actually, I think she mentioned you a few times in her diary. There were a few things about "the baby", saying she had to give her up, wondering where she was... I always assumed I had a sister out there somewhere..." Michelle nodded softly. Not really knowing what to say. "So.. if you were adopted, why are you here?"

"My parents died." She started, and shook her head when he went to say something. "There's no real love loss. They were horrible people. I use the word parents very loosely. Anyways, I found my adoption papers in their safe. And tracked down the doctor that delivered me. He told me everything.. and... I don't know. I just felt like I needed to be here."

"So... you're staying?" He asked, curiously.

"Apparently I inherited the house. Well... Dad did technically," John raised an eyebrow at her referring to _him _as 'Dad'. She chose not to go into it. "But since he's... you know... it went to me. Unless you.." He shook his head.

"No, you can have it. I don't want anything to do with him." John said, immediately backpedaling. "I mean, except you. It's... kinda nice to not be alone in this. But... are you sure it's a good idea to stay there?"

Michelle smiled, looking from her hands to his eyes. "He's not going to do anything to me. I just know... somehow." John looked skeptical, and slightly scared.

"Just... be careful. And keep in touch." Michelle smiled and stood up, he followed.

"I will, I promise." She leaned in and gave him a soft hug.

"Mom was right..." He said as she started walking away, she glanced over her shoulder. "You do have his eyes..." He said, sadly. Michelle just smiled, and left the church.

~O~

January 20th, 2003

The Myers House

Haddonfield, Illinois

Michelle had worked tirelessly for two months to make the house live able. She'd had to call in contractors from other cities to work on it, no resident of Haddonfield wanted anything to do with the place.

The walls and floors were stripped bare, new hard wood was laid, and fresh paint everywhere. All of the appliances and light fixtures had to be replaced. Hell, the entire electrical system was replaced. Plumbing, everything. The only part of the original house that existed was the frame. But finally, towards the end of January, she could move in.

Michelle threw up heavy, black, curtains. And constantly kept them closed. She furnished in dark cloths and woods. At night, the entire house looked like the void. And she loved it.

The whole town was intrigued and confused by the woman who was brave enough to move into that cursed house. Though she kept to herself. On the rare occasions when she did leave the house, she never really spoke to anyone, despite their best efforts. She was written off as a loner and a bitch. It was fine with her, really. She didn't want to get close to anyone. Her misanthropy had seemed to intensify since coming here. She chalked it up to the newness of the town.

Honestly, Michelle had no idea why she was here. Finding out that she had a totally different life had been thrilling. Her entire world changed. But the more time she spent here, the more she felt like she was just sitting, waiting for death. To put it shortly, she was scared. Something though, something was keeping her here.

Michelle's citizenship had come through just a week ago. As well as her name change. She was finally, and once again, Michelle Myers.

Unfortunately, her bitch status wasn't enough to keep everyone away. Michelle was stoned and half drunk, lying on her couch with The Texas Chainsaw Massacre playing on the television when she heard a knock on the door. If it weren't for how loud the movie was she might have been able to get away with ignoring it, but whoever was on the other side of that door was persistent as fuck.

She peeked out the peephole. It was the blonde woman from next door. The one with the little shit kids that Michelle kept having to chase out of her back yard. Was she about to get bitched out by some psycho soccer mom? Slowly, she opened the door, blinking against the sunlight and snow.

"Yes...?" Michelle said, looking at the woman deadpan. Despite her resting bitch face, the woman still smiled at her.

"Hi! I'm Laura Daniels! I know you moved in a while ago, sorry I haven't gotten to say hello yet!" The woman was way too happy. It made Michelle groan.

"That's nice of you..." She mumbled.

"Oh what a beautiful accent. Are you British?"

Michelle stopped herself from groaning, but only barely. "...yes."

"How wonderful!" Laura said, still wearing that damn smile. "What's brought you to the states?"

"Family." Michelle answered flatly. This was getting annoying, and she was getting cold.

"Oh. That's wonderful. Do they live here in Haddonfield?"

Michelle snorted sarcastically, with a small laugh. "Not anymore."

"That's a shame. What was their name? Maybe I knew them."

"Oh.. I'm sure you've heard of them." Michelle smirked sadistically. Fuck hiding. Now was as good a time to come out as ever. "I'm a Myers."

Laura's eyes widened a bit. "Oh... are you Laurie's daughter? You look a bit old to be..."

"No. I'm Michael's daughter." Michelle's expression was dead serious. And Laura paled.

"O-oh. I never knew he... well... it was nice to meet you." Michelle had never seen someone walk that fast in her life. After closing the door she leaned back against it and laughed. Hard. It was going to be fun, living here, she could feel it.

~O~

Spring-Early Fall 2003

Haddonfield, Illinois

News of Michelle's existence spread quickly through town Where there was once just a sense of disdain, now it was all out fear. It made her giddy. So far, everything was working out fine.

What wasn't working out fine, was Michelle's drug habit. She seemed to be on something, or drunk, almost every moment of every day. More and more of her money was going to alcohol. Or pot. Or pills. It wasn't that she was in any real risk of going broke. That wasn't going to happen. But she was doing more damage to herself than she could really handle. There had been two occasions so far where she'd woken up in the hospital. But she greatly preferred those to waking up in random beds. Apparently the Myers curse wasn't enough to get guys from wanting to take her home.

Things flowed like this into the summer, and everything slowly changed to fall. It was the day that she noticed the leaves changing, that she also noticed something was off about the house.

The first time it happened, she was just coming out of a black out. Her head was throbbing, and she felt horrendous, but still pulled herself up. She stumbled her way out into the kitchen, and the basement door was wide open. Michelle never went down there. It creeped her out too bad. So the door being open struck her as odd. But she brushed it off as drunken forgetfulness.

However, more and more things like that happened. Doors and windows open. Books, papers, pictures in places she didn't remember leaving them. And then there was the overwhelming feeling of being watched.

As September bled into October though, signs got more and more clear. Broken picture frames. Blood. Just, little droplets of blood, on the couch or the floor.

Then one night, around the fifth of the month, she came downstairs to find a picture of Laurie lying on the coffee table. The glass of the frame was shattered, with a thin, long, cut in the middle. Like from a knife. He was here. He was in the house. And he was watching her.

~O~

October 13th, 2003

The Myers House, Kitchen.

Michelle was sober for the first time in days, and realized that it had been about as long since she'd eaten. It was around three in the morning, and she didn't have much. But she managed to round of a pack of noodles and a can of tuna. Better than nothing, right?

She stood, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed. She wore an over sized t shirt, and a pair of black shorts. Her long hair was piled on top of her head and held there by a butterfly clip. Last nights makeup was still smeared over her face. She looked a wreck. A felt like one too. Her head was leaned back against a cabinet, and she was fighting the desire to just lie down on the kitchen table and fall asleep.

Her eyes only opened when she finally heard her water start to boil. She grabbed the pack of noodles, and tossed the into the pot, along with that little packet of seasoning that came with it. As she stirred the soup, she felt it again. The hair on the back of her neck rising up. Goosebumps spreading over her skin. She shivered.

"I know you're there." She called out as she turned around. "I know you're watching me. You don't have to hide."

Her eyes snapped to the doorway between the living room and kitchen, as he stepped into view. Michelle had heard so much about him, but nothing could have prepared her for seeing him in person. All six foot-two inches of him. A solid wall of human. Far more intimidating that she'd ever imagined. She didn't shrink back though, she drew herself up, and locked her eyes with his.

"Hello, Daddy."

~O~

A/N: Oooo, sorrynotsorry for the cliffy. How the hell is Daddy-dearest going to handle this revelation. Hell, how's Michelle going to handle it. It's all downhill from here, ladies and gents. Hold onto your pants, and don't piss in 'em.

Be a doll and leave a review.


	3. Settling In

Disclaimer: See chapter one.

A/N: This chapter features some moderate abuse. Just a fair warning.

Imitation is the most sincere form of flattery, right? Or is it mutilation. Hm...

~O~

Michelle swallowed against the lump in her throat, finding herself unable to say anything else. She didn't realize that she was shaking slightly, she probably reeked of fear, despite her attempts to hide it. Michael's head tilted slightly to the side. She watched as the hand holding the knife twitched. "Do you remember Ingrid Whitman?" She said quickly, hoping maybe the name would ring a bell. "She was in the hospital with you..."

Michael stiffened for a second. Of course he remembered her, he'd never forgotten honestly. It was the one and only time in the past thirty-nine years he'd felt anything akin to human emotion. Ingrid had been the one, and only, friend he could ever remember having. "She's my mother..." The girl in front of him said, she had a strange accent.

Michael wasn't stupid. Quite the opposite, actually, he was alarmingly intelligent. His silence and catatonia really had been an act. He was just biding his time until Laurie was ready. He'd paid close attention to the tutors the hospital had given him, though he didn't participate actively, he retained everything. And there was a guard, a man named George, who imparted entirely different kinds of wisdom on Michael. From George he learned all about the more...adult.. aspects of life. Michael knew exactly what he had done with that girl. He remembered the compulsion to commit the act, and Ingrid's willingness to participate in it. She'd seemed to have a better grasp on what they were doing than he did. Could it really be possible that he'd gotten her pregnant? He knew that it could, of course, but the idea of having a child was so foreign to him it was too difficult to really grasp.

Michelle wasn't sure what was going on in his mind at the moment, and didn't realize that she was holding her breath. In the corner of her eye, she saw the pot of noodles about to boil over, but didn't want to turn her back on him. So she groped around the front of the stove, finally finding the knob and shutting the burner off. But she'd glanced away just long enough, because when she went to look back at him, he was standing right in front of her. The girl squeaked, and tried to back up, only managing to pin herself between the counter and her father. It took everything in her to not flinch away when his hand shot up and gripped her jaw.

Michael tilted the girls face, making her look at him. She didn't look like Ingrid, except for her hair. No... him, his nose a jaw, at least what he could remember he looked like, he hadn't even seen his own face in years. But her eyes, he saw those same eyes every time he passed a mirror. So dark a gray that they appeared black until you were right up on them. And just like his, there was something dark hidden in the depths. His eyes. His daughter. He released her jaw and stepped back.

Michael had no idea what it meant to be a father. He could scarcely remember his own, but he really couldn't deny that this girl was indeed his. And he didn't feel the desire to bury a knife in her chest. It was extremely confusing. An emotion that he wasn't exactly known for handling very well. He turned from her, and left the kitchen.

Michelle let out a breath, raising her hand to rub her jaw. "Well that was fun..." She mumbled, turning back to the food on the stove, but found appetite suddenly gone. Probably from the fucking jumping jacks her stomach had just done. She decided to pass on the noodles, instead just grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge. She'd have went for the beer, but if she got any more dehydrated she'd end up in the hospital again. That and staying sober was probably a very good idea at the moment.

Still shaking, and no less scared, the girl headed out into the living room, where she found her father standing in front of the mantle over the fireplace. She had several pictures lined up on it. The few remnants of her family that she could find. Most of them had been sent to her from John. He'd found them among her things, and thought Michelle might like them. She walked over to stand beside him. If he noticed her there, he didn't give any indication that he did.

"That's me," She said, pointing at the photo of a small baby, wrapped in a pink blanket. It wasn't exactly a professional baby photo, but it was really all she had. "Right after I was born. And..." She pointed at a black and white photo of a boy sitting next to a car seat holding a days old newborn "that's you and aunt Laurie." She noticed his hand twitch, but other than that he gave no real reaction. There were half a dozen or so other photos. One of Judith at her junior prom. A couple more of Laurie when she was younger, another of Michael as a child. "That was your sixth birthday..." She said softly. That photo had been taken less than two weeks before he murdered his eldest sister. It was the last photo ever taken of him at all. "And there's grandma and grandpa." She said,, pointing to a picture of a middle aged couple, smiling brightly, blissfully unaware that their son was just a year away from unraveling their lives.

Michael hadn't thought about his parents in about twenty years. He could remember them coming to see him in the hospital for a couple years, they'd brought Laurie once or twice, but one day they just stopped. He didn't find out until years later that it was because they'd died. An hadn't felt much, maybe a fleeting moment of sadness, but their loss only served to harden the ever growing darkness in him. It made him more and more determined to put an end to Laurie's life. He blamed his sisters entirely for the lack of attention he'd received as a child. That was what it started out as. Just a bad case of middle child syndrome. But that night in 1963, something latched onto him. Some sort of dark power, that drove him from the idea of sororicide, to homicide in general. The main goal was always to rid himself of his family, but killing had become a second nature to him. And now he did it for any reason he saw fit. He listened as his... daughter... pointed out the photos. There were none of her mother though. For some reason that bothered him more than it should have. He turned and looked down at the girl claiming to be his child. The girl who was his child. There was nothing of her mother in her though. It seemed liked she'd been cloned from him.

Michelle squirmed a bit under her father's eyes. He seemed to be staring at her with an intensity that made her sure he could see into her soul. So she took a small step back, keeping her eyes on his, which was a bitch on her neck. Fuck he's tall... "My name is Michelle, by the way. Mum named me after you..." He tilted his head at her again. That seemed to be the only real response she could get out of him. She stepped back again, until she was a fair distance from him. "I think I'm going to go to bed." She mumbled, and grabbed her water bottle off the table. She all but bolted up the stairs, closing the door tightly behind her. She glanced at the lock, but let out a bitter laugh, as if that flimsy piece of metal would keep him out of here if he really wanted in. She'd been expecting him to show up for about a month now, wondering if he would wait until Halloween, but hoping not. However, now that he was here, she had no idea what to do. Michael Myers. Her father. Was here... in her house. _His house, _she reminded herself. How exactly do you handle something like that?

Michelle eyed her bed, wondering if she would even be safe going to sleep. If he was going to kill her, he'd have done it already, right? Again she thought about the lock, and again decided against it. With another deep breath she pushed away from the door and took a step towards the bed. She was just pulling down the covers when she heard heavy footfalls coming up the stairs. The sound made her freeze in place, trying to keep herself from trembling again. But as the steps reached the landing, they continued on down the hall. She heard a door open and close hard. And assumed that he'd gone into his old bedroom. She dove into her bed, and pulled the covers up over her head. Seriously, why did she think this was a good idea.

~O~

Michelle didn't wake until close to six in the evening. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been that tired. More often than not she could go days without feeling even the slightest bit sleepy. For the first few moments of consciousness, she'd forgotten about her new house guest, but it all flooded back to her and she groaned, trying to sink back into her bed more. However there were two very pressing issues at the moment, the first being that she had to piss... bad. Luckily, the master bedroom had it's own bathroom. But even then, she still found herself creeping across the floor as quietly as she could.

With that immediate need taken care of, Michelle turned towards the bedroom door. Wondering if he was still in his room or not. Maybe he left? She shook her head, and grabbed the door handle, turning it slowly, the boor giving a soft creak as it opened. The hallway was dark, and empty, so she crept into the hall and slowly down the stairs. The living room was empty as well. As was the kitchen. She let out a deep breath, and opened the refrigerator, only to be reminded that she had nothing to eat.

"Figures..." She groaned, turning towards her cabinets. They were bare too. She really needed to stop drinking.

Michelle groaned and wandered out into the living room. She dug around on the table until she found the phone, deciding to order a pizza.

"Tommy's Tuscany, how can I help you?" Came a bored sounding male voice.

"Yeah, can I get a large pepperoni and sausage pizza? Oh and some hot wings." She asked, finding herself ravenously hungry.

"Yeah, it'll be $15.60. Carry out, or delivery?"

"Delivery. 45 Lampkin Lane ." She said, grabbing her purse to get her credit card.

"Oh... uhh... I don't think we deliver to that side of town." The kid on the other end mumbled.

"...You just delivered to my neighbors house last fucking night." Michelle snapped.

"Yeah well.. it's a new thing... like brand new."

"Bring me my fucking food. Or I'm coming down there. Got it?"

"Y-yeah... twenty minutes..." He said, defeated. Michelle smirked, hung up the phone and grabbed her cigarettes, pulling one out with her teeth. She was just lighting it when she heard someone on the stairs. Suddenly remembering who was in the house, she tried to melt into the couch. Her heart almost stopped when he rounded the corner. She froze, her cigarette dangling out of her mouth, and he stood for a moment, just staring at her.

"Hi?" She eventually stammered out, plucking the cigarette out of her mouth with her fingers. Michael tilted his head, continuing to stare. Michelle squirmed again, somewhere between scared and annoyed. Eventually she just had to look away from him, but even then, she could still feel his eyes on her.

Michael looked over his...daughter. There was less light in this room than the kitchen, the shadows cast over her face sharpened her features. Her cheekbones could cut glass, her nose was narrow, flaring gracefully at the end. Her eyes were a little sunken, and she had a high arching brow. The more he looked at her, the more he realized just how closely she resembled him. But she was built like her mother. Michael had never seen Ingrid before she was brought to the hospital, he never knew about when she was barely more than skin stretched over bones. By the time he met her, the eighteen year old woman had gained weight, and filled out beautifully. She'd had graceful curves, while still remaining slender. Michael never really noticed things that like, but with her he had. And now with Michelle. It gave him an odd sense of pride to have fathered such a beautiful woman.

Michelle snuffed out her cigarette and stood up, still trying to ignore her father's staring. She wandered into the kitchen, where she dug a beer out of the fridge. Between her own thoughts, and the sound of the refrigerator running, she didn't hear the footsteps that followed her out to the kitchen, and jumped after shutting the door. He was standing right next to her. "Fuck!" Her hand flew to her chest, and she felt her heart jumping. "Can you not do that, please?" She stepped around him and grabbed her bottle opening off of the counter, but as she lifted the opened bottle to her lips, Michael grabbed her wrist, and twisted the beer out of her grip. Michelle watched, having no idea if this was really happening, as he threw the bottle out of the back door, flinching when it shattered on the ground. "Seriously?" She went to get back into the fridge for another one, but he caught her upper arm this time, shoving her back against the counter. Michelle knew her skin was bruising, and whimpered. His eyes looked murderous, and it made her shake. "Okay... alright.. I'll throw them away..." Tears were swelling in her eyes from the pain in her arm. He glared at her for a few more moments, before letting her go.

Michelle rubbed her arm, and carefully stepped around him, prepared to run from the room, when there was a knock at the front door. She noticed him tense. "It's fine.. it's just my food. I-I'll get it."

Michael watched as she practically ran out of the room. He felt some sort of strange, tightness in his chest. It had started the moment he saw her almost cry. He heard her talking to whoever was at the door, the she walked into the living room. The killer was torn between joining her, and getting the hell out of the house.

Michelle grabbed her food and quickly signed the receipt. The delivery driver seeming to be just as grateful for her rush as she was. Once she had the boxes in hand, she turned toward the living room, stopping when she saw him sitting in the recliner. She had to take a deep breath to calm herself down again, and crossed the room to the end of the couch farthest from him. She curled her legs under herself as she pulled out the container of chicken wings. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw him set back in the chair, even sitting he was insanely intimidating, feet planted, legs apart, arms resting on the rests. It wasn't really the pose itself, she supposed, just the man in it.

Eventually she tore her eyes away from him, and turned on the television for something to distract herself with. Just two weeks away from Halloween meant that TV was flooded with horror movies, which she normally loved, until she realized that she was now living in one. That thought made her shiver, and she finally settled on Child's Play. Compared to the person sitting five feet away from her, Chucky really was a fucking doll.

~O~

October 16th, 2003

For the next couple days, they developed somewhat of a routine. Michael didn't usually come out of his room until it was dark, so Michelle had taken to getting up around three in the afternoon to give herself some time alone. She was usually making food or fucking around on the internet when he came downstairs, and then they'd sit there, silently. He would either just sit there, or stare at the TV if it was on. Michelle had no idea if he actually watched it or not. For some reason the idea of Michael Myers watching crappy horror movies seemed completely ludicrous. Often times though he stared at her instead. For the first two days, it bothered her, but now she just ignored him. She usually wandered up to bed around six or seven in the morning, and whatever food she'd left out would be gone by the time she got up. After the second night she'd gotten the idea in her head to try to sneak downstairs and catch him with the mask off, but that seemed like a very good way to get stabbed. Still she couldn't help but wonder, after everything he's gone through, was he still even recognizable as a human?

After three days of being cooped up in the house with him though, Michelle was losing what little might be left of her mind. She'd lied about throwing away the beer, and he found her with one last night. He'd grabbed her wrist so tight that he sprained it. Michelle had been hiding in her room ever since.

It was around ten-thirty at night when she finally decided to come out. By deciding to leave the house all together. Michelle wrapped her wrist tight with a bandage, before brushing out her hair. She put on her heaviest makeup, and the cutest bra she had. Dressed in skin tight jeans, and a scrap of white cloth that hardly resembled a shirt over said bra, she stuffed her feet into her boots and made her way downstairs.

Michelle peeked around the corner into the living room, sure enough he was sitting in his chair. She just sighed and stepped into the foyer to put on her coat. "I'm going out for a bit." She said, zipping it up, Michael only glanced over at her. "I'll be back later." His eyes seemed to scan her over for a moment, before looking back at the wall. She just sighed. "Try not to kill anyone on the carpet, okay?"

With that she headed out the front door, and locked it up behind her. Though, she supposed she now had the most effective security system in the town. The thought made her giggle, and she skipped down the stairs.

Deciding against taking the car, she turned left and headed towards town. It was less than a ten minute walk to the bar, and it wasn't too cold out yet.

The bar was called 'Tanked', which was fitting considering how cheap the booze was. She'd only been there twice, bars weren't exactly here scene, she proffered to drink at home, but it wasn't too bad. Right now it didn't matter to her much if it was a truck stop bathroom, as long as there was alcohol. There was a little voice in the back of her head screaming at her that this was a very bad idea, and like an idiot she ignored it.

After shedding her coat at the door, she approached the bar and took a seat off to a corner by herself. There weren't many people there right now, a handful of middle aged women, the stereotypical lonely old man, and a few stray bikers. She looked up when someone cleared their throat, she looked up to see the bartender staring at her. She'd seen him here before. "You're that Myers girl, right?" He asked, and she raised an eyebrow.

"My name is Michelle." She replied with a slight growl. It was bad enough she was living with her father, without having to live in his shadow. The bartender smiled.

"Cool, nice to meet you, my name's Doug." He said with a grin. Normally she might find him cute and charming, for some reason she just found him annoying.

"Can I get a beer please?" She said flatly. His smiled fell, but he nodded.

Michelle stayed silent as she drank. Beer, after beer, after beer. And eventually ended up slumped in her stool.

"You doin' alright there, sweetheart?" Doug asked, smirking at her. It was nearing closing time. Michelle blinked and nodded, trying to draw herself upright.

"Yeah, I'm good."

"You need a cab or someone to walk you home?"

"No," She shook her head adamantly. "No, I'll be fine."

Doug smiled his most charming smile, "No, let me walk you home. I insist." And so she relented. He was a perfect gentleman as they walked, Michelle leaning heavily against him.

"So, what's it like living in that house?" He asked, curiously. Michelle snorted.

"It's just a house, honestly. There isn't anything remarkable or spectacular about it. It's not haunted by the ghost of my murdered aunt or anything stupid like that." She said, slightly slurred. She was staring at her feet in an attempt to not trip over them.

"Yeah, but... aren't you afraid that like... your old man's gonna come after you or somethin'?" Michelle glanced down at her wrist, she couldn't really feel the pain anymore, probably from the dangerous amount of alcohol swirling around in her system.

"No. I mean... I'm sure he'll show up eventually but..." She didn't bother to finish her sentence, they'd reached the house. "Thanks, Doug." She smiled, and turned away from him, unlocking the door. "Have a good night."

"Oh, I thought I'd come in for a bit..." He said, but Michelle shook her head.

"Not a good idea..."

"Aww, come on, you live alone right? What's there to be worried about?" He stepped towards her, reaching out to touch her arm. Michelle brushed his hand away and turned around. "Go home, Doug." She said as she pushed the door open.

She had just taken a step in the door when she felt his hand close around her shoulder and pull her back to him. "Don't be a cunt, Myers." Michelle growled and turned around, landing a punch right across his jaw. While he was still dazed from the blow she hurried inside, but he still managed to get in the door before she could close it. "You fuckin' bitch!" He yelled, pulling back and slapping her across the face. She went down, hitting the floor with a loud thud.

And then she started laughing. Doug raised his brow, looking at her like she was completely insane. "The fuck is so funny?!" He shouted, and she only laughed more.

"You have no fucking idea how stupid that was."

"Yeah, I'm fuckin' sure." He growled as he launched himself at her, meaning to pin her down. Only he never quite made it there. A massive hand closed around the back of his neck and pulled him upright.

"Told ya." Michelle laughed, slowly pulling herself to her feet as Doug thrashed, and kicked, trying to hit whatever had a hold of him. "I don't believe you've met my dad before, have you? 'Course not. Since you're still alive... for now.

"W-what?!" The boy yelled, just as Michael turned him around to face him. Doug paled considerably, and was just about to scream as a gigantic knife came down, into the top of his head. Michael released the boy's throat, and let him slide off of the blade, and hit the floor hard. Laughter bubbled up in Michelle's throat again, and she could barely contain it. However, it was cut short when her father rounded on her, and she was met with a hard glare. "What?" She stammered, suddenly realizing just how badly she smelled of booze, her eyes widened.

Michael looked from her to the body on the ground, then back at Michelle. She had no idea what was going through his mind. She screamed when his hand shot out and grabbed her by her injured wrist. "Fuck!" She cried, but he didn't hear her, or didn't care. For the next thing she knew she was being dragged up the stairs. She managed to keep up, but only barely, and when they hit the middle of the flight she fell, landing her knee on the edge of a step. The new injury brought tears to her eyes, and she was hauled to her feet by his hand moving to her upper arm. Limping the rest of the way up, Michelle fought hard not to cry. When they reached the top floor, she tried to pull herself away from him, but only ended up on the receiving end of a slap that made her black out for a moment. More than long enough for him to shove her into her room, and slam the door closed hard.

Michelle stumbled, and fortunately landed on her bed rather than the floor. Every inch of her body hurt, and she was close to crying. She wanted to scream, and yell, and tear open that door and beat the shit out of him. Did he seriously just lock her in her own room? In her own house?! _His house, _her brain reminded her. And she sighed. Was this because of the guy, or the alcohol? _Both. _

With a pained groan, she glanced over at the clock. It was almost four in the morning, and her will to fight was lost. She was in too much pain, and just couldn't bring herself to care. What a waste of a good fucking buzz. She just sighed, and stripped out of her blood splattered clothing, then crawled into bed.

Michael was standing outside the door, just staring at it. Seeing that boy coming after his daughter had made his blood boil. It was a strange feeling, to suddenly be protective of someone. But he was. And he knew he'd never let anyone lay a hand on her. But he'd also been pissed that she put herself into that situation. He tolerated the fact that she smoked, that was bad enough. But the drinking and the drugs, just no.

And then there was a feeling again. That tight discomfort in his chest. Her felt it again, seeing her almost crying.

She'd done it to herself though. So he left her in her room, and went about getting rid of the body in the foyer.

~O~

Please leave a review.


	4. His

Disclaimer: See chapter one.

A/N: This is the point in my story where things start to get seriously fucked up. And I mean that both literally and metaphorically. **This chapter includes both abuse, forced sex, and incest. If you are not comfortable with those elements, DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER! It only gets worse from here. **

.

~O~

October 18th, 2003

Two days later, and stubborn as ever, Michelle decided she was going to go out once again. Determined to not let her psychotic house-mate rule her world. She woke around five in the evening, leaving her just enough time to get dressed and out the door before he came out of his room.

Tonight she chose a black mini-skirt with a purple fishnet top, and a black bra under it. She had no plans to come home tonight, not just because she intended to get completely wasted. After ringing her eyes with kohl and painting her lips a shade to match her "shirt", she grabbed a coat, zipped up her boots, and snuck down the steps as quietly as possible. Her heels made soft clicks on the wooden floors, and she just hoped that they weren't loud enough to travel upstairs. The backdoor gave a slight groan as it was opened and closed, but she managed to get outside without incident.

If she were smart though, she'd have checked the back seat of her car.

Michelle arrived at the bar around six-thirty, and immediately started the night out with a round of shots. Three whiskys straight down. Somewhere around her forth beer, she was approached by a man in a suit. He was cute enough, and getting cuter by the second, so she decided not to rebuff him when he bought her shot.

"That's quite the outfit you're wearing," He said, shouting slightly over the too loud music in the background. "Don't really see much of that around here."

Michelle laughed, leaning closer to him. "Well, I'm not from around here."

"I can hear that," he commented, "That's a lovely accent." Michelle smiled warmly, and nodded towards the dance floor. "My name is David, by the way. David Schneider."

"Michelle Myers." She smirked, she saw a flash of understanding cross his face, fully expecting him to turn around and run, especially now with the rumor of a man found in a garage somewhere near Richardson Avenue appearing to have been stabbed through the head with a large blade. However, David just smiled, and put an arm around her waist, pulling her to him.

They swayed, grinded, and danced the night away, taking periodic breaks for a drink or too, he didn't seem to down half as much as she did, though. And somewhere around midnight Michelle was sufficiently tanked, and getting very handsy.

"You wanna get out of here?" He asked, holding her up with one arm while she sagged against him.

"Mhmm," She mumbled, nodding her head against his shoulder. After helping her to locate her purse and coat, he lead her outside.

"Do you want to take your car?" He asked. It took her a moment to locate her keys, and she pointed out the blood red mustang parked close to the door. David helped her into the passenger seat, and they took off towards his house.

It was a quaint little two bedroom ranch at the edge of town. He told her his sister lived with him, but she was out of town for the week, so they could have the run of the place.

After stumbling in the door, they immediately started making out, Michelle tugging and tearing at his clothes until he finally picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. Between all the blood in their bodies rushing towards their nether-regions, and their intensely hard breathing, they completely missed the front door opening and closing.

Michelle was topless in a matter of seconds, with David firmly latched onto her breasts. She was mewling and whining, grinding herself against him like a cat in heat. When he slipped lower, and tugged off her panties, her eyes slipped closed and she leaned her head back against the pillows. She was lost in her mind as he touched and prodded her, but after a moment she opened her eyes and looked down, instantly noticing white face in the shadows at the end of the bed.

"Shit!" She screamed, suddenly finding herself horribly sober.

David stopped what he was doing and looked up at her, like she had lost her mind.

"What?" He asked, just before being yanked off the bed by his hair. Michelle jumped up and grabbed Michael's arm.

"Daddy stop!" She yelled, trying to pry his hand away from David. It was entirely futile, as abnormally strong as she was, she was still no match for him. And after a few moments of this, she found herself flying backwards, into the wall. Michelle groaned, fighting to remain conscious, and was completely powerless to do anything but watch as her father crushed her 'dates' skull with his bare hands.

After recovering from her shock, she jumped up. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" The girl had no control over her voice right now, she was practically screaming. She rounded the bed towards him, all logic and sense completely gone from her mind. "You're fucking following me now? Seriously?!" Before she could even think of stopping herself, she shoved him with all her strength, causing him to stumble back several steps. Michelle had about a half a second to realize what she'd just done before his hand flew across her face, and found herself hitting the wall again, she had no time to recover before being lifted off the floor by her throat. His grip was crushing, and despite her best efforts, completely unrelenting.

Michael was livid. Once again she'd defied him, and this time he truly wanted to kill her. She clawed and pulled at his hand, barely managing to budge it.

"D-ad-d," She choked, her face turning red and eyes slowly slipping closed. Something about her voice snapped him out of it, and he dropped her. The girl crumpled to the floor in a choking, coughing mess. Michael found her purse, and dug her keys out of it. He threw the bag at her, along with her missing clothing, and made his way out of the room.

Michelle was crying, unable to stop herself, and only pulled on her panties. She stuffed the shirt and bra into her purse, and put on her coat, being sure to button it up tight. As the adrenalin wore off, she was settling right back into her buzz, so following him out to the care was a bit of a pain in the ass, but she managed, and all but fell into the passengers seat.

Her father was just starting to simmer when she chose to speak. "Why are you doing this...?" She asked, her voice small and weak, he figured he'd probably done a number on her larings. He didn't look away from the road, nor did he speak, but in his mind he thought, _because you belong to me. _She sigh, and he saw in the corner of his eye as she sank back into the seat, there was that feeling again. "Are you just going to keep me locked up in that house forever?" _Yes. _

Seeing her like this, and hearing her voice so weak, made his chest feel tight. Honestly, he had no idea what it was. He could never remember feeling anything like this before. Did he feel bad about it? She'd done it to herself though, she knew better by now. Even still, he felt compelled to comfort her in some way, so he pulled his right hand off the wheel and reached over, grabbing her left.

Michelle froze, and looked at their clasped hands. This was the first time he really touched her, with out inflicting some kind of pain, she wasn't ruling that out just yet though. However, for some reason, it took everything from the past twenty minutes away. She felt a smile spread over her face, and she held his hand tighter, lacing her fingers through his. It was about a fifteen minute drive from David's house to theirs, and she was slowly getting more and more tired, and at some point in that short span of time ended up with her head resting against his shoulder.

Michelle was half asleep when the car pulled up around back of the house. She'd never gotten around to rebuilding the garage, but the trees served for a reasonable amount of coverage, not that anyone would notice them at two in the morning on a Thursday night anyways. The girl groaned when her pillow moved, and reluctantly opened her eyes when the drivers side door opened and closed. Clearly their little daddy-daughter bonding moment was over. Frowning, she climbed out of the car, carefully working her way through the yard and into the house. With a sigh, she locked up the back door, trudged her way though the kitchen, and into the living room. It wasn't really late, by her standards, but she decided to get ready for bed anyways. Maybe a hot shower would sober her up some. She made sure to stay silent as she passed her father on her way upstairs.

Once in the safety of her own little world, she rolled over tonight in her mind. Michael seemed vehement when he attacked that guy, she'd already forgot his name, and her. With softly shaking hands, she reached up and carefully felt her throat, wincing in pain. That was going to bruise, and she doubted she'd be able to talk very well for the next few days. But, she figured she'd deserved it, and that she was lucky to be alive. Maybe it was time to back down a little and actually do as she's told... er... expected.

Downstairs, sitting in what had become his place, Michael was lost inside his own mind. It had been a very strange week so far. He'd had every intention of killing whoever was in his house. He'd never expected to find it in such good shape... or that it was his daughter's doing.. Yeah... he was still getting used to that one. His. Daughter. Honestly he still had no idea what that meant. He knew that it meant he was responsible for her. It was his job to take care of and protect her. But beyond that, he had no real concept of familial bonds... or boundaries.

Michelle groaned and leaned back against the shower wall, the water was unreasonably hot and beating down on her, turning her skin red. She was trying to resign herself to the fact that her life was no longer her own. That she was once again under the control and dominance of a parent who had no fucking idea how to be a parent. Or ever really seem to comprehend that she's an adult.

Or maybe it's Michelle who has no idea what parents should and should not be like. It's not like she had stellar examples of it growing up, and even when she was fortunate enough to make a friend, she never had much interaction with theirs. Or that 'friend' would disappear, or have some kind of accident before she got the chance.

When she was seven years old, she had a friend named Danielle. The other girl was blonde with blue eyes and so fucking adorable it was sickening, where as Michelle always seemed dark, and broody... like a real life Wednesday Addams. Anyways, the girl had taken to stealing Michelle's things, first it was things like her cookies, or part of her lunch, the escalated to things like books, toys, or whatever else she could get a hold of. When she finally confronted Danielle, they were in her bedroom, Michelle got the girl out into the hallway, and shoved her down the steps. Much to her displeasure, the girl lived, though she would be spending the rest of her life in a wheelchair. When Michelle turned fifteen, she was seeing a boy named William. They were on a date at a lake on the countryside when he decided to get grabby. She'd warned him off several times, he didn't get it, and found his head under the water. That was her first kill, she hadn't had many chances to do so again, but she liked it. Now she knew why...

And killing had a strange effect on her, even the thought of violence, she found it very... arousing. Seeing people in pain, having a dominance over them, making them scream and cry and bleed. A smile spread over her face as she slipped a hand down between her legs. By the time she finally got out of the shower, the water was going cold, and her knees were weak, but she felt tons better, and even had a smile on her face.

After wrapping herself in a fluffy, purple towel, Michelle stepped into her bedroom, watching as the steam rolled out of the door. It took her a moment to notice that she wasn't alone in there, and she started slightly, noticing her father sitting on the edge of her bed. "Dad?" She asked, curiously, her head tilting slightly when he looked up at her. "You okay?" He'd never come into her room before, at least not that she knew, and something about him seemed off.

Michelle watched as he stood up, feeling slightly tense, after what she'd done tonight, she really had no idea if she would live much. He could change his mind at any moment. She was trembling softly as she raised her eyes to his. Michael closed the distance between them in a matter of seconds, and was now towering over her. Her breath caught in her throat, the look in his eyes... she'd never seen anything like it. It scared her more than anything she'd seen before. It was angry, and violent, and...hungry. "Daddy...? She knew her voice was betting weak, and the thought to run back into the bathroom and slam the door in his face was overwhelming. Finally, after staring her down for almost a full minute, his hands came up, and she squeezed her eyes shut, thinking she was about to get strangled again. But it never came.

Instead he brushed the back of his hand against her cheek, the gentility of the gesture made her eyes pop open, just to be sure that it was really him touching her. He brushed his thumbs over her cheekbones, and traced gently down the slope of her throat. Michelle took a slow, shaking breath as goosebumps started rising on her skin. Michael's hands slipped over her shoulders, then he gripped the towel, pulling it away from her body. She gasped, stepping back slightly, bringing her arms up to cover herself. But he caught her wrists, and forced her arms back down to her sides.

Michael's eyes skimmed over his daughters flesh. He had no idea why he was doing this, he was feeling something he hadn't felt in years. This desire, and need, it was taking him over. She was so beautiful though, soft, feminine, beautiful. He followed the curve of her breasts, ghosting his hands over her waist and hips, Her breath started to quicken, he watched as a shiver tore through her. "Daddy," her voice was breathy, "what are you doing?" He really didn't know. Michael had no real concept that what he was doing was wildly inappropriate and wrong. All he understands is that he feels drawn to her. Like he was to her mother. This girl was beautiful, and she was his. His head tilted to the side while he examined her.

Michelle was fighting to keep her breath calm. Never in her life had she been touched this intimately, and it was her own father doing it. Fighting to stop herself from trembling was effective in blocking out how good his hands felt on her skin. He drew her back to reality when his thumbs traced along the undersides of her breasts. This was so wrong...

And then he was gone.

Confused as fuck, and shamefully turned on, Michelle crawled into her bed and pulled the blankets up over her head, not even bothering with clothing. She forced herself to ignore the warmth between her legs, tried to push the thought of his touch out of her mind. It worked, and she slipped off to sleep. Her mind was blissfully bereft of thoughts and dreams, until she felt something brush against her side. A soft sensation, sliding over her leg and hip. The touch was strangely soothing, and for a moment, she thought she was dreaming it.

Michelle's eyes fluttered open, and she blinked against the darkness in her room. It took several moments for her brain to catch up to being awake, and she took in her surroundings, before looking for the source of the touch she'd felt before waking. Then she noticed the sound of breathing next to her, and rolled onto her back to see him better. With her head slightly tilted, she followed the path of his fingers from her hip, down her leg, and back up again. "Daddy?" She whispered, stopping his ministrations and causing him to look her in the eyes. At least she assumed that he was, with the darkness of the room coupled with the mask, his eyes were entirely obscured.

After a moment, he continued running his hand up her side, until he could get a grip onto the blanket that was over her, and tear it away from her body. Her skin flushed at the cool air of the room, she impulsively sat up and covered her bare chest with her arms. The expression on her face was a mix of confusion, curiosity and fear. Michael had no more an idea why he was doing this than she did. It was the same compulsion he felt only once before. The same sort of overwhelming, primal need that was driving him to act out in ways that were so far from his norm. He recognized the feeling as lust. He knew what the word meant, and had seen it in action first hand on several occasions. He assumed it was something that would be considered "normal", and had no real grasp on the concept that such an emotion directed towards his own child was just fucking... wrong.

Michelle fought back weakly as he grabbed her wrists and pulled them apart. She really didn't seem to have her heart in the fight. He gave her wrists a firm squeeze and she cried out, immediately ceasing her attempts to pull out of his grasp. "Dad..." she whimpered, drawing his gaze back to her. "Please... don't do this."

Honestly, she had no idea what kind of reaction she was expecting from that. As if he would actually listen. His only response was pushing her down onto her back after bringing a knee up onto the bed. Michelle just turned her head away from him, with her eyes closed tight. Her body was reacting to this in ways that made her feel sick to her stomach. The tension between her legs was growing again, lighting a fire in her belly. God, this was so fucked up. "Dad..please..." She whined, trying to wriggle free again. This could not be happening. Again, his response came in the exact opposite of what she wanted. He swung his leg over hers, and forced her knees straight, crushing her into the bed. The fact that he outweighed her by about seventy pounds of solid muscle brought her panic to a screeching halt. She was trembling, and couldn't tell if it was out of fear, or desire. Squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, she took a deep breath and turned her face back to his. "Daddy..." She whispered softly, "Daddy, look at me." And he did, His eyes had been wandering over her chest, but snapped to hers when she spoke. "Please, don't do this.. it's... it's just wrong..." Michelle was hoping that she was sounding convincing, that there wasn't part of her that wanted this to happen. But she knew, if she gave into this, whatever string that was holding her to her last ounce of sanity would snap. That thought scared the shit out of her. She laid as still as possible, waiting to see what he would do. He responded by digging his knee between hers, and prying her legs apart.

"No!" Michelle yelled, and began thrashing under him, she was trying to roll and buck, anything to get him off of her. Michael was losing his already minimal patience, and backhanded her hard. With her distracted and dazed, he parted her legs with his hips, and rested him self in the cradle of her thighs. He watched as her eyes fluttered closed, and she took a sharp breath.

The sudden pressure against her pelvis brought Michelle to a halt, her eyes slipped closed and she fought to keep control of her breath. She lost all sense of thought and reason, it took so much to stop herself from grinding against him. She kept her eyes closed until she heard the sound of a zipper, they snapped open and she shook her head. "No... please... just don't." the woman was pleading now. This couldn't happen. Michael was ever farther from reason than usual, and didn't even hear her. Despite her better judgment, Michelle looked down between their bodies, and felt her breath catch in her throat. He was massive. She could wrap her hand around it and her fingers wouldn't touch. Michelle had to swallow against a huge lump in her throat and turn her face away again. Her breath caught as she felt him press against her entrance, pushing her legs apart more in the process. She was more turned on than she thought, because after only a moment of pressure, he slipped inside of her, and she had to bite back a scream.

It felt so fucking good, her filled her completely, stretching her walls to their limit, and managed to hit every, single nerve at once. "Stop..." she whispered, barely audible, turning her head away as he started to thrust. Michelle was fighting an internal battle, trying to ignore what she was feeling, this amazing, overwhelming pleasure that was spreading through her system, in hopes of maintaining her mind. But ever thrust came harder, and harder, and that much more difficult to ignore.

Michael sat back on his knees, putting her legs up over his hips. "Oh god..." Michelle moaned before she could even stop herself. With her hips tilted, he was hitting that spot inside her just right. And it suddenly became so real, and so good. Every thrust made her cry out, her back arched, hips grinding. His grip on her thighs was bruising, and the pain only served to egg her on. Michelle had fists full of her bed sheets, twisting and pulling at them as he fucked her. Her breathing was ragged, the noises coming out of her throat animalistic. "Fuck!" She screamed, her pressure rising fast. She wanted to beg him to stop, but she couldn't. It was too late, she was starting to come unraveled, every muscle in her body tensed, then let go at once. Her orgasm tore through her like a bullet, making her scream, buck, and claw at the bed. She was flying so high she didn't even hear the satisfied grunt from Michael, but her eyes flew open when he gave one last thrust. The feeling of him spilling into her sobered her quickly.

Everything caught up with her suddenly, it all set in. What she had just done, and with who. She felt her stomach roll, and as soon as he pulled away from her she bolted off the bed, barely making it to the toilet in time to throw up. "Oh god..." She groaned, pulling her legs up to her chest, burying her face in her knees. She'd never felt so filthy, so fucking disgusting, and she had fucking loved it.

Michelle was so lost in her mind and tears that she didn't notice her father, completely redressed, standing in the door way, looking down at her in confusion. She'd seemed to enjoy it enough while it was happening. This girl was far too confusing.

She looked up immediately when she heard footsteps enter the bathroom, and turned her bloodshot, tear streaked face to him. There was no fight left in her though, so she relented to letting him lift her off of the floor and carrying her back to bed.

Michelle wanted to take another shower. She wanted to clean the sticky mess between her legs, and scrub her skin off. But she was too exhausted. This entire night had just been insanity from the beginning. And now... that.

Once he laid her down she immediately rolled onto her side, away from him. Her eyes tensed shut was he rubbed a hand down her arm, then pulled her blanket up over her shaking form. She listened to his footsteps walk around her bed, then out into the hall. Once her bedroom door was closed, she buried her face in the pillow and let loose.

This was too much.

~O~

A/N: I have confused feels about this chapter, honestly. I think I've rewritten in six times, and still can't get it to come out the way I want it to. So, there's a very good chance that this is going to get drastically edited some time in the future.

Anyways, let me know what you think.


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